


Reflection

by josephsweed



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 03:58:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19265455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josephsweed/pseuds/josephsweed
Summary: Small reflection piece on V as he is nearing the end of his journey.





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with my pretentious shit. I have a lot of pent up emo feelings, especially about V, so I just vomited them all onto a page and this was the result. Coherency? I don't know her. 
> 
> All of the his/him etc that are in italics refer to Vergil. The other instances of his/him etc refer to V himself. The very first paragraph is an outsider's view, mine really, but the rest is from V's point of view.

He was crumbling, pitifully so, piece by piece breaking off and flaking, carried off by the breeze. Like old paint on a door or like sand, chipping off a sculpture. What would the sensation feel like? Did he feel himself breaking apart at the seams, disappearing bit by bit? What agony. 

And his mind. It was perhaps more troubling yet. To think that all of this destruction, all of this death was caused by _Vergil_ and there was nothing he could do to go back, to stop _him._ Or was it him? He didn’t know who he was.

It felt like a distant memory, a far-off dream and yet it made a pit in his stomach, made his chest ache and he was reminded of it at every turn, every blink. It was all in the deep corners of his mind, he couldn’t reach them even if he stretched, desperately grasped,though the feelings were still there. But why would he? 

It was less painful to keep separate, to try and keep only the happy intact, at the forefront, little of it that there was. There was only his mother, the brightest star, the loudest scream in his head, the clearest vision in his rare dreams. 

Trish looked just like her and yet bile rose in his throat at every glimpse of her, her sneer, and he was reminded that even if he was himself, even if it was not _him_ he was still alone, unwanted.

He was still alone. 

And there wasn’t anyone there that cared, truly cared, beyond their duty to protect humanity, or save what was left of it. They could pretend to be concerned when he stumbled, mouths twisting into frowns but he knew humans. He knew even if he was but a few days old. All they really cared about was the task at hand and when he embarrassed himself in front of them, when he showed them just how weak, powerless he truly was, all they were thinking about was the fact that he would slow them down. A nuisance. 

Perhaps humans really were as weak as _he_ said. 

**No.**

Despite what the murmurs said, he would do right by the others as much as possible, while he was around to watch over them. He wasn’t _him._ He wasn’t himself, just a mere shell, but he would do right. For his mother, if anyone. For _his_ son. And maybe they wouldn’t understand. They _wouldn’t_ understand. They wouldn’t trust him, especially once his true origins would come to light. But until then he would continue to be there for them when they needed him, come to their rescue, even if he was falling apart. Even if he was the one that needed the most help of all of them. He couldn’t take back _his_ decisions but with Urizen out of the way, at least the survivors stood a chance. He’d do what he could until he blew away, a distant memory to be immediately forgotten, overshadowed by _his_ legacy. And if all he managed to do was slow them down and get in their way? Well, what did it matter? He would be dead anyway.


End file.
